


sugar shot

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M, and myself, but mostly this, coffee shop AU, i hate this, pansy features briefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 07:43:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11054451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: They first meet on a Tuesday.





	sugar shot

**Author's Note:**

> sorry?? ?? ? ?

They first meet on a Tuesday.

It’s in a fucking _coffee shop_ , which is vaguely _disgusting_ , really, it’s like the universe used a fucking meet cute generator but messed something up along the way, because, quite frankly, Blaise Zabini is an _arsehole_. Admittedly, he’s an arsehole with melting-chocolate eyes and fantastic cheekbones - which Theo considers a personal _affront_ , really, someone like that doesn’t deserve to look so _good_ \- but he’s an arsehole nonetheless, and Theo is completely, utterly, decidedly _not into that_. Mostly.

Like, he has _some_ self respect. It’s limited, but it’s definitely _there_.

He thinks.

So, like, back to the point, it’s a Tuesday morning in July, disgustingly warm, sun shining, birds singing, _et cetera_ , and Theo is minding his business as usual and going to grab a coffee before class like he does literally every morning, except - he gets there and it says **_sorry, we’re_** _ **closed** , _which is fan-fucking- _tastic._ He stands there and swears until he feels better about it and walks ten minutes to the next nearest coffee shop that isn’t a fucking _Starbucks,_ because of the aforementioned self respect he has - see, it definitely _does exist_  - and he walks in and, _well._

The first thing he notices is the guy about his age behind the counter, and - he’s _pretty._ Okay, scratch that, he’s not pretty, he’s - beautiful? Can boys be beautiful? He’s pretty sure they can, and even if they can’t the universe would make a fucking exception for him, okay, he’s - yeah. And maybe he loses the ability to talk for a minute, but it’s a _very short minute_ , because Lord knows the British form queues like nobody’s business and this one is getting rather long behind him, and the guy behind the counter looks at him with an almost-smile that says he knows exactly what Theo is thinking and clears his throat and says, “are you planning to order, or are you just going to stare all day?”

Which, firstly, _rude_ , and secondly, his voice is like, _really good,_ rich and low and lovely, but also: rude. 

The almost-smile has transformed into him looking like he’s about to laugh at him. Which, for the record, is a feeling Theo does not much appreciate. 

But he’d also quite like to hear him laugh.

 And then he thinks he’d like to avoid going down that route and decides he’s being ridiculous, and smiles back, honey-sweet. 

“Bit of both?” Theo suggests, and the guy raises an eyebrow but doesn’t reply, which Theo considers a victory, and orders a caramel macchiato, and then he _does_ laugh at him, quietly, which, Jesus, _rude,_ and Christ, he _does_ have a nice laugh. “What, do you have some kind of problem with that?”

“None at all,” he says smoothly.

“Fine,“ Theo says, which is vaguely pathetic, he _knows_ , but also, he doesn’t have much else to say, and the queue behind him is really getting _godawful_ , so he moves along.

* * *

” - and, like, it was vaguely pathetic, I _know_ , but I didn’t really know what to _say_ ,“ Theo finishes telling Pansy, and he frowns. "And now I don’t know what to _do_.” He takes another sip of his beer. “This stuff is fucking disgusting, by the way. I’m never drinking again, I swear.”

She stares at him. “Two - two things. Firstly, we both know that’s a fucking _lie,_ because you say that _every time you get drunk,_ and - secondly. That’s _it_? He laughed at your drink. That’s your issue? I laugh at your stupid caramel macchiatos on a _daily fucking basis_. They’re disgusting. It’s an insult to the name of coffee.”

He shrugs. It’s elegant, like all his movements, something Pansy has always been jealous of. “You’re an idiot,” she tells him, slowly if not slightly slurred. “Just fucking - make out with him and get it over with.”

He sighs. “The trouble is, I _really want to_ , as well.”

* * *

The next morning, he’s standing outside the same coffee shop again, wondering if he’s really sunk this goddamn low.

His usual place is open again today - he knows, because he walked past it on his way here, ten minutes out of his way, where his macchiato was, really, _overwhelmingly_ mediocre yesterday.

So why is he here? 

He sighs, because he knows why he’s here, and he regrets it already but he - would just like to confirm that Beautiful Boy was not, in fact, a figment of his imagination. Purely because he’s pretty sure it’s not actually possible for someone to be that attractive at seven-thirty in the morning, but - when Theo admits to himself that yes, he has walked ten minutes out of his way for no reason at all except _that_ reason, which he’s ignoring, he can confirm that he is, in fact, as beautiful as Theo remembers, if not _more,_ which is both ridiculous and impossible. 

He sees him and raises an eyebrow like he _knows_ that Theo just, like, _does not need to be here_ even though he couldn’t, really, unless Pansy has turned traitor and tracked him down and told him everything, which he wouldn’t even put past her. “You again?”

“Me again,” he agrees.

“Caramel?”

“Vanilla,” he says, and adds, “half-caff,” just to be irritating. 

“Can I have your name?”

“You first,” he says without thinking, because he’s fucking stupid like that.

He is most definitely being laughed at. “I need it for the coffee cup.”

“Oh,” he says, and then after a mildly awkward pause, “Theo.” 

Is he _blushing?_ _God,_ this is _awful,_ he’s _awful._

“Blaise. For the record.”

“For the record,” he repeats. It’s _something._

“You know you could’ve just checked my name tag?”

“Of course I did,” Theo says with perfect arrogance, and Blaise just rolls his eyes. 

“Of course you did.”

* * *

“You again?”

Theo shrugs. “It’s been two weeks. At some point you’ll have to stop acting surprised.”

“Maybe it’s not surprise. Maybe it’s _disappointment.”_

“I couldn’t disappoint anyone,” he lies, “not even if I tried.” 

“I beg to differ.” Blaise’s eyes look like he’s about to laugh, as always. “What disgustingly sugary concoction will you have today?” 

On his way out, he gets a “see you tomorrow,” for the first time, and it’s enough to make him disgustingly cheerful all day. 

He thinks he might be losing his mind, and/or developing a serious and seriously inconvenient crush, which is both completely unsurprising and incredibly unfortunate. 

But he doesn’t want to _stop._

And that’s - not good.

* * *

On Wednesday he orders a caramel brulee mocha frap and Blaise just shakes his head at him.

* * *

On Thursday he orders a butterscotch latte with two pumps vanilla and extra cream and Blaise tells him with perfect seriousness that all his teeth are going to rot. 

* * *

On Friday he orders a mocha with three pumps extra chocolate, toffee nut syrup and caramel drizzle and Blaise switches it out for a plain cappuccino and watches Theo take a sip, eyes sparkling with amusement. It tastes like _mud._ Theo thinks he would drink it again just to see him laugh like that.

* * *

He can’t get him out of his _head._

* * *

On Saturday he decides to forego his caffeine fix entirely in the hope that he’ll somehow find some self control in the process, which, _good fucking luck,_ but doesn’t it mean something that he’s _trying_? (”no, it doesn’t,” pansy says over the phone, which is, well, fair enough.) He whiles away the day avoiding the work that’s piling up around him as per and reorganises his bookshelf for the third time that month. Falls asleep for half the afternoon because he’s had nothing sugary and wakes up at eight just as the sun is going down, and - 

Fuck it. Seriously. Self control is incredibly overrated, and he happens to know that they don’t close for another half hour, so - he pulls on a sweatshirt even though it’s July because it’s the closest thing and picks up his phone and leaves before he can change his mind.

It’s empty when he walks in, apart from - him. Blaise looks up when he walks in and he doesn’t say, _you again,_ or _you’re late,_ or anything he was expecting; he just says, “hello,” low, quiet, and - 

“Hi,” he says, and he’s - _unsure._ Something about Blaise makes him feel like he’s coming undone. It makes him nervous. 

“Isn’t it a bit late for your daily sugar shot?” Blaise asks finally, when it becomes clear Theo isn’t planning on saying anything.

“No. Yes.”

“Is that a no or a yes, then?”

“I - yeah. Yes.”

Blaise straightens up. They make eye contact and it’s _electric,_ there and bright and _tangible._

Theo feels awfully, hopelessly out of his depth.

At some point Blaise moved out from behind the counter; he’s standing _there,_ here, close enough for Theo to close the gap between them in a couple of strides, but he doesn’t, he _doesn’t,_ because he doesn’t know what to _say,_ not exactly. _God._ He wants to leave. He wants to kiss him. He wants to leave before he does something stupid like kiss someone who is _blatantly not interested._

Maybe. Probably? God, he doesn’t know.

Blaise is still watching him. 

It’s so, so quiet; it _aches._

“What are you here for, then?” he asks finally.

Theo blinks. 

“You,” he says, and it tastes like a confession on his tongue.

Blaise looks away. “Oh.” Theo swears his heart might give out.  

“Sorry, that was weird, I’ll just -”

“Don’t be _stupid,_ ” he says, and Theo thinks, _oh,_ and he takes a step forward, and Blaise leans in and closes the gap and then they’re kissing and it’s - _everything,_ he swears, and Blaise’s hands are tangled in his hair and he tastes like dark chocolate and it’s intoxicating and he -God, _God._ Blaise pauses long enough to guide Theo so his back’s against the wall and then Theo loses the ability to fucking _think._

* * *

Blaise Zabini is an arsehole with melting-chocolate eyes and fantastic cheekbones. 

Theo is completely, utterly, decidedly into that.

* * *

**epilogue: one day later**

“You never _said_ anything.”

“You didn’t call _,_ ” Blaise tells him, “what was I _supposed_ to think?” 

“How the fuck was I supposed to call you?”

Blaise looks incredulous. “Please tell me you’re joking. You fuckwit, I’ve been writing my phone number on your coffee cup for _weeks.”_


End file.
